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World On Fire by TFresistance World On Fire :icontfresistance:TFresistance 55 89 Darien, The Exhausted by missiongenocide
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Darien, The Exhausted :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 2 11
The Torn by missiongenocide
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The Torn :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 17
Claire the Rivetter by missiongenocide
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Claire the Rivetter :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 3
Playtime is NEVER over. by missiongenocide
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Playtime is NEVER over. :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 12
Atticus, The Broken by missiongenocide Atticus, The Broken :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 2 8 Silvia, Freed and Freezing :P by missiongenocide
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Silvia, Freed and Freezing :P :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 2 13
Glenn. Burning Revenge by missiongenocide
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Glenn. Burning Revenge :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 15
The Betrayed by missiongenocide
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The Betrayed :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 0 7
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THE MONSTER MUST BLEEEEEEED :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 21
Irene, The Wartorn by missiongenocide
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Irene, The Wartorn :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 6 13
Climh in colour by missiongenocide
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Climh in colour :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 20
The Toxic Gemini by missiongenocide
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The Toxic Gemini :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 8
Marius, Still Dying by missiongenocide
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Marius, Still Dying :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 17
Forever Beyond The Grace of God by missiongenocide
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Forever Beyond The Grace of God :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 10
The Restrained by missiongenocide
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The Restrained :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 14


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A reader! Amy fanfic for Missiongenocides Cursed project.

You are carefully examining a boarded-up house, trying to figure out how to remove those boards before the thick, dark clouds you see on the horizon make their way to where you are. The destruction of Dermot Mansion caused the perpetual overcast weather to dissipate, but that does not mean mundane rain can't make your situation even more embarrassing than it already is. You manage to find a place where the nails are not quite as hammered in near a window and start to pull. Good riddance to that horrid house, but being sent flying is certainly rather inconvenient, especially since you are as lost as a straw in a haystack and have no idea how to return to Sunset Vale and your father. Even if you this whole curse thing ended, you would still not find the one person in the world you would ever want to find. After all, the daughter of a funeral director, of all people, would understand that life is limited and that your father must be getting old by now. Is wanting to see him one last time before you lose him too so much to ask?

Aha! You are now standing with a board in your bony, yellowish hands and are just a few more away from getting to that window. You put the board down nails-down so no one will hurt themselves on it and start prying at the next one. A normal human being would not have the endurance, and most other cursed would not have the strength, but you can push yourself beyond the normal limits and not suffer any further harm than you already have. Its quite unfortunate that the reason for your power is that your a walking corpse. Even now, you are distracted from pulling those curse-blasted boards off of the window by the pains of rotting, the slow stabbing pains on various parts of your body where the rotten flesh had given way and showed exposed muscle. It healed quickly, but was demolished only slightly more slowly, so that at any time there where several parts where the pulse of your body tearing apart shot through you, just like being stabbed with a knife over and over. Do all dead people fell these pains, but can do nothing about it? Its a disquieting thought.

Standing back to look at your handy work, you grab the last board and slam it into the window. Zombie endurance and a quickly healing body made you a very formidable foe of any attempt to keep you out of somewhere, and you have always had a natural talent for sneaking around. You used to just use it to take bruised fruit left over from the farmer's market at the end of the day, but now it served to keep you hidden from the sight of mortal folks, who would surely freak out at a walking, talking corpse in their midst. No point in bothering with trying to socialize with people who would just run away. You do have a few friends, namely the anatomist Edgar and you got along quite well with those two female cursed passing through here a few days ago in the other direction, but to be honest, you are alone most of the time, and you don't like it one bit. Being alone has meant being vulnerable, and as durable as this horrible corpse of a body you have is, there are people out there who can give you a beating, and you've met them.

Seeing the broken window in front of you, you pull yourself in without a second thought, feeling a little sharp glass rake you. Aren't you in enough pain already? But it was only momentary and you found yourself inside a surprisingly intact abandoned house, and none too soon. You could spend the next few days here without a problem, protected from the early summer storms that might come along, but with HIM on your case, you should keep moving. The Black Dragon wasn't like that red brute that attacked you sometime soon after you had been cursed, he was emotional and acted on impulse, easily dealt with by being just as tough and ferocious as he was. You think that red guy actually respects you a bit now, he hasn't shown up to harass you after that. Not like this guy with the black cracks on him. You evaded him once, leading him to the edge of Janette's lake prison and turning suddenly, causing him to skid on the slippery mud and fall into the water, but now you were nowhere near anywhere where you had the advantage of knowing the terrain better. The only way to avoid your mysterious pursuer now was to keep moving. You cannot be scared for your life because you don't have one anymore and can't die, but something about this young man who can shoot purple flames out of his hands activates some kind of primal self-preservation instinct.

You see rain pouring outside as you sit on the couch, the stabbing pain joined by the discomfort of maggots nibbling at the exposed muscle. You have tried your best to stay clean and have no idea where you picked up the bug infestation, but you can't seem to get rid of the annoying things no matter what you do. It is just like whoever is behind all of this to add insult to injury. Slumping on the couch and trying to ignore the steady jabs in your body, it is hard to avoid becoming hard on yourself.

You could have not told your friends your father worked at a funeral parlor. You could have tried harder to avoid the dead and grieving. You could have learned to get used to it all the way your father had. You could have avoided going to the hospital to see old grandma dying, you could have not run into the the black dead trees near Dermot Mansion, you could have been further away from that green blast that sent you all the way to wherever here is. Now you are alone in a strange town, wracked with pain, without even the comforting rhythm of breathing and heartbeat or the comforts you are used to, perused by your most relentless and ruthless enemy and worried sick about your only living family member, your busy and esteemed father.
You felt something on the edge of your eye and moved your hand to remove it, assuming it was a fly coming to land on your left eye, which was blind due to being on the rotted side of your face, instead you felt wetness against the sticky exposed tissue. You touched your other, good eye and discovered water. are crying...this isn't like you. You are a daddy's touch little girl, not some crybaby...

The fact you are crying only makes you cry more at the fact that circumstances had pushed you so far, so fast and so deep into despair. The irony is lost on you, but you can't stop yourself. Amy D'eath, crying...the shame is just too much and you are very glad your father can't see you right now. And all of this because you idly wished you would die so you would not have to deal with losing anyone else. You know, deep down in your unbeating heart that you thinking that is what caused you to end up a rotting, animate corpse, wracked with pain like being stabbed with dozens of knives, abandoned by everyone.

The rain shower passed, and night fell. You honestly don't notice it at first, but you look out the broken window and see it is dark, with stars shining somewhere far away where things are better. Judging by how your hair is moving there is a slight breeze coming in, but your dead body feels nothing but pain, and has felt nothing but pain since your transformation. You used to cope okay by giving your other senses a pleasurable sensation, the sight of deep green living forests, the smell of a field of flowers, the taste of the odd bit of left-behind tea. But out here, in this unfamiliar place, you are too busy running and hiding to do much of that anymore. The reminders that you are a cursed cannot be drowned out any longer.

You have been technically dead for a long time, but you still managed to imitate life until now. These days...these days you feel dead too. You mutter to yourself, "I need to not break down now...who knows what this guy will do to me." The moon rose and poured light on you, and somehow things seemed ever so slightly less bleak than they did a moment ago. You are going to find your way back to Sunset Vale. All you needed was some way of knowing which general way to go, and you have forever to get there.

You needed to see your father, regardless of your current state. He might know what to do, and even if he doesn't, you want him to know his daughter has not abandoned him.
Front Garden Presence
Even two days after these plants all flowered at once and out of season, I can still smell that powerful smell I smelled two days ago like a field of flowers in this general area, though the feeling of love and goodwill has faded to a faint impression.

I keep telling myself might be a co-incidence, but if it is, it is a bizarre one. A part of me actually wants to think the Gardener was on my front porch, and I am astonished that I could ever think something supernatural was real. But odd things have been happening since I moved to this nice but nondescript townhouse in the middle of the city.

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A reader! Psychotica fanfic for Missiongenocide's Cursed project.

Light in this small, dark room makes you freeze instinctively. Light means one of two things, the people have come in to start cutting you up again, and the people have come in to light the torches and burn the feathers from your wings, which is less painful but still unpleasant. Though its not like you could really go much of anywhere anyway, you have had heavy railroad spikes driven through your arms and legs as soon as these people had discovered you where cursed and so you where stuck to the back wall in the 'Chamber of Perfect Sorrow' a small room you knew from listening carefully to everyone was in the middle of a larger building called the 'Temple of the First Tree'. You never have been allowed outside the temple, even before you where cursed, but now Shun's power allowed you to be aware of the outside world, that you had spend your life imprisoned and needed get out some day, some how.

You eyes could pick up every faint movement, leaving a faint staggered afterimage, you could see the robes, dark blue and embroidered with stars and a barren tree on each side in yellow thread, even in this dim light, the small silvery trails of a fly moving through the chamber, and looking towards the light of the torches your eyes hurt from the brightness. But your ears told you even more, as stuck here as you are you have learned to rely on them for news. As the temple was quiet every other day, you could easily hear Outside. Outside you have picked up wind, grass blowing, the cawing and chirping of birds, people talking and even the odd barking of a dog. You have spent your whole life not knowing of these things, having never seen these things, yet now you can hear them, and long to be out of this dark, chilly cave of a room.

While you may have been sheltered and safe growing up, in retrospect you where still not treated as a child should. When these people, who called themselves 'The Followers of the Dead Oak' found that one of their member was pregnant with something they called a 'Heaven Child' they where ecstatic, finally, it seemed to them that their Dead Oak had gone and favored them by putting the one class of person who could harm him into right into their hands. They had, even then, bled you until you where dizzy, somehow believing that drinking your blood would imbue them with the empathy of the divinely empowered, but you didn't get what made you so special until those convulsions started. This made you seem to them even more sacred,both angelic and prophetic. They started when you where very young an even now come whenever you have too much stimulation, which with your sacred punishment means these cult people have to be quite careful you aren't convulsing all the time.

As for the punishment itself, it happened one day when, in a fit of pique, you decided to try running away from the Cult of the Dead Oak. You had had a fight with one of the people tasked with keeping you alive and well, of the three of them he was the most stubborn and forced you to follow the largest amount of silly rules. He watched how you ate, what you said and what you did like he was looking for an enemy ship on the horizon and yelled at you whenever you got the slightest out of line. You still sometimes see the craggy old scoundrel in the crowd of worshipers, though he seems a bit guilty for how he treated you back then. You ran out of the room you had been told to stay in because the 'cops', whatever they where, where going to enter the building and seeing you would be bad, but in your anger you ran right out of there and right towards the door, which opened at that moment and you got an eyefull of a flashlight from these 'cops' people, a man and a woman wearing odd blue clothes and hats like a soldier might wear, and this set off a particularly nasty convulsion, you injured the woman's wrist with your flying arm and the man fled the scene to call the 'ambulance', whatever the Shun that was.  The woman had her hand in your mouth, trying to keep you from choking, a kindness you realized just then had been never given to you before. It was then that the cult's 'Sacred Master' finally showed his face in person, and everyone but the woman in the blue clothes, who was too confused to do much of anything, and you, who where too busy convulsing still, bowed to the floor.

The small, skeletal figure looked around the room with a careful, scanning gaze, "I think you are disgusting." The group reacted in shock, some gasping, a few stammering out apologies and excuses. You did not know it at the time, but you would learn later that the mighty Shun had walked up to you and told everyone present, "This is what I think of you worshiping me." and grabbed your writhing other arm with perfect timing in his own frail hand, transforming you on the spot. Though he looked oddly gleeful when he saw the wings push out of your back, glossy black and shiny like the wing of a crow, "Heh, so they where right about the 'Heaven Child' nonsense. I suppose even a fool is right every once in while." With that, he parted through the chamber door and went out the back wall of the building, leaving you to writhe so hard and extremely that it cracked the woman in the blue clothing's other wrist and forced her to flee. You had spent the next three days convulsing with such violence that you thought your body would tear itself apart at the seams, your every muscle was a mass of ache from the exertion by the time you finally stopped your writhing.

The cultists had then decided to use railroad spikes to bolt you into the wall of their inner sanctum. The thick metal felt very painful going in but not as much as your body ached already, and you where too exhausted at the moment to fight back anyway, so you just let them. The Followers of the Dead Oak told you that it was for your own safety, but you could now see in their faces with your keen new eyes that they where now SCARED of you. Even as the rituals involving you intensified, moving into ever more intensive tortures of you to attempt to make it up to their enraged god, it was the convulsions that really hurt, on those occasions you still had them, almost to the point you could ignore the ritual carving they left in your bare chest. They could last for only hours, or they could go on for days like the original convulsion did, and every time it was as though your muscles would tear free of your bones.

But today, in that lit doorway, you did not see the cultists. Who you saw was a group of four people, one a shorter blonde woman wrapped in branches, one a tall emaciated young man covered in long, spiked metal wires, a medium height man with swordlike blades coming out of him and a slouched teenager with glowing gaslike...stuff coming out of him and looping back into his body, glowing faintly greenish-gold. You saw the subtle subdued nature of their movements, heard their ragged breathing as they searched the darkened chamber with a flashlight, and though your punishment did not affect your sense of smell, when they got close you could smell they had the same woody smell as you.

The man with sword skin asked in a voice that, while warm, had the same subtle whisper as your own, "What are we looking for here?"

The short woman replied, "That police woman told us there was a cursed in here." They where whispering as quietly as they could, so you heard their speech as being at the loud side of a normal conversation.

Then the flashlight landed on your feet. You slammed your eyes shut to try avoiding the pain of convulsing and sensory overload, but the roar of her shouting, so loud from being right next to you you could not make out the words, drowned out your thoughts and made your body lash out of control. Everything for the next while was a mass of roaring, flashing images, dancing lights and body-tearing pain. It was not for a long time that you learned what had happened. When your nightmare of sensory overload and thrashing and agony had stopped, you where laying outside on the grass with the four people who you had seen earlier, with the sun setting behind you. The woman walked over to you carefully and spoke to you as quietly as she could, "I'm sorry I yelled, I didn't know better, now I do. I'm called Claire." It still sounded like someone who was trying to talk over a noisy crowd to you, but it was a lot better.

You tried to explain, to her, but since it has been so long since you have spoke it was hard to get the sounds out of your mouth, "My eyes, sensitive..." The branch-covered woman said, "I know, I can...I have seen your memories in front of my eyes. I don't know how I can do that, sorry. You are like me, those wings say so...and now your free, look." She gave a small but encouraging grin.

You did look, and you did see and hear, your sharp senses encompassing everything. The wind on your skin coming from the east, the hoot of an owl far in the distance, yet like it was near you, the pumping hearts and cracking joints of the wire-covered man near you. So many more things that could make you convulse...yet so many more things you could also experience for the first time, without anyone hitting or yelling at you for doing so. You where FREE just like this Claire had said.

Experimentally, you slowly stood where still sore from the thrashing...and spread your wings, starting to stretch them. You looked back at the group of people behind you, your own kind had saved you at last, a sign of Shun's disapproval like you always had hoped. You knew what he had meant the day he cursed you, unlike the others. You look towards the dark east and start to pump your wings, sending a gust of air, roaring air that filled your ears and made them ache, but you had to try this...after several minutes, you slowly rose into the sky and find out that above the trees, everything was a little more quiet, a little more tolerable, the air rushing past you as you slowly head back down to a tree and land on a thick branch. You could see Claire run up to you below where you sat, she whisperes up to you, "Be careful, ok?"

You spoke back, "I...will, and thank you."

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A reader! Auza fanfic for Missiongenocide's cursed project. (Warning: Mild Spoilers)

You look at the trees around you and stand up. At least you are not to blame for everything collapsing this time, you saw the green wave of energy come for you, there was no time to get out of the way. To be honest, you've come to accept that you are the butt of the universe's joke, and you still have no idea what you did wrong to deserve this. You thought your penance in the old chapel of the Dermot Mansion was enough to compensate for the damage you had done to this town, to everyone, but you were clearly wrong. Now the mansion is in rubble, and you are once again out in the open where you could harm someone. Why? Why? What did you do wrong?

You decide that since you have been sent flying, you may as well look around to see where you have landed. You're sitting in a small rut where you landed from the blast, its fairly easy to stand up even though you need to use your claws and leave two dark acid-etch marks in the dirt, your crash has already done enough damage. You are in a farmer's field, with corn to your back, front and sides, and a clear blue sky above. You probably should move before your seen by someone who will be very angry you left a large rut in their cornfield, but where to? You can't see a thing besides the field your standing in, and going in a random direction could have you walk into people, near someone's house or some other situation where you could cause a lot of damage. Indeed, even as you stand here your peculiar form of damnation raises its ugly head, the corn near you starts to wither and rot, birds scatter and some fall from the sky, their wings broken, insects die and shrivel.

You really need to get out of here. The longer you are in one place, the worse it gets, the more you damn others along with yourself. You mutter a prayer that you don't walk right into a town and head east through the cornfield, trying not to pay attention to the fact you are killing a good swath of the corn as you pass. This is what the tree demon did to you, he made being near you a death sentence. You look back on your life as you exit the corn field onto the road, which starts to crack below your feet as you examine which way would take you furthest from where you could harm someone. You have always been a kind, studious and helpful person, you tried to keep a healthy body and mind, you where there at Sunday mass most of the time, and you avoided the Dermot Mansion like it had fleas. So why did that tree demon choose to harm you? You had no reason to make an enemy, no reason to become someone who was dangerous to be near and whose touch destroyed anything left. You had been damned to eternity for no apparent reason.

Heading down the road away from the farm, you find yourself in a pleasant landscape of fields, pastures and patches of forest, but that ends as you pass, the leaves wither and fall, the fences break, the farming machines break down. If you stayed long enough in this area, a few days or so, people would start to have accidents, lose their minds or possibly even die. You don't even want to remember what you did to Sunset Vale Community Catholic Church, the one you grew up attending. It was horrible, it was really horrible and its no wonder everyone in town hated you after that. Anyone who might have called you a friend was disgusted with you. These things, they just happen wherever you are, they are not your fault but no one understands this, and no one ever gives you time to explain. Whatever horrible blight is inside you acts on its own, using you only as a vessel. You have tried again and again to bleed this taint from your body, but it seems to be a permanent part of you, and the only thing you have gained for your efforts is a cross-shaped torso scar and acidic talons growing out of your fingers so you won't do it again, so you can't even write down how you feel, like you have wanted to do so long. But the black acid, even now falling on the pavement of the road and etching small holes in it, would ruin anything you would try to write on except maybe granite rock.

Despite your begging to not be noticed or found, it seems that another aspect of what has happened to you is that you always find some way to end up where you will cause harm if you are not careful. And you have run right into a group of hikers coming up the road the other way, a group that is staring at you, frozen in indecision. You back away, trying to get out of your horrible effect's range, but your too slow, several branches from the trees nearest the hikers come crashing down on them, injuring one and giving the other three a serious fright. The hikers look at you with terror in their eyes and you run right through a cow pasture, the grass dying and the cows scattering as you pass, your mind only focused on getting out of here. But your running makes you crash into the fence, which splinters from being too close. The racket brings an old woman out of her house to see what is going on, you have a clear path to run again, so you look for an exit before something, anything, happens to the old lady that is coming closer to you with every second.

A patch of forest can be seen to your right, one with some of the trees far apart enough for you to fit through. Thanking God for helping you avoid harming an old lady, you dash for the forest and go in as deep as you can, well away from the farms an everyone else. Finally, you can stop running and catch your breath. Years spent immobile in Baron Dermot's old chapel have not been kind to to your body, yet you would do anything to be back there, back in a place that is now in pieces. Everyone was safe from you there, while, here, even in this lovely and remote forest, the leaves wither and die, the bark peels, the branches start to crack and fall to the ground. Yet you have to sit down before moving on and hope nobody followed you in.

A sudden crack alerts you to a hollow tree toppling over, you quickly step aside and sit down a short distance away, avoiding getting it on your head. Your punishment also effects you, though unlike your victims your body heals quickly. Touching the cross-shaped scar on your chest, you slowly let the acid do its work, wincing as the sizzling pain crosses your torso and opens up your raw skin. You know that bleeding yourself from this wound doesn't work, but you don't know of any other way to show the heavens you have a conscience, so you get to work, slowly destroying the skin and revealing the cross-shaped wound underneath, even as the grass dies and the squirrels run before the falling twigs and dying wood beetles. As you look up, an owl is disturbed by the racket and flies out of a hole in a tree only to be caught by a falling sparrow and land right near you. You stare in horror as red ants come out of a nearby tree and attack it until it dies. Your acidic claws mean your attempts to help would only have killed it faster, so you instead dig deeper into your body, trying to pull out the tree demon's corruption. The longer you stay here, the worse the effects will become, until this whole area of the forest is nothing but a pile of broken trees and animal skeletons, yet here is where you are staying. Better here than somewhere near civilization where you can do real harm.

You know it doesn't work, but you can't think of anything else to do but flagellate yourself before the eyes of Heaven, which you know watch you with the same horror and disgust as everyone else. You mutter to the now exposed sky, "I'm sorry for this. I'm really sorry."

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A Reader! Claire fanfic for Missiongenocide's Cursed project. (Warning, contains mild spoilers!)

You thought that it was the end. Your long walk, your series of savage fights against a homicidal maniac, a woman with guns for hands and a weird winged baby who looked oddly like yourself but was host to a deadly parasite that attacked all who came close. You looking upon the one causing the shifts firsthand, his form immobile and immovable but radiating such power. Then you incautiously brought your teammate Darien too close to him, too close to the imprisoned prison warden, and it caused a chain reaction where one fed the other too fast, too much...Edman he was called, and now he is likely filled with horror at how he's caused you so much more misery than he already was. You think of the poor young man often. And every time you feel like its your fault.

Now, you are in an unfamiliar place, far out in a deep green forest. After the pain and bleakness of the now leveled Dermot Mansion, it aught to be a welcome sight, but you have no idea where you are, or how far it is to make it back. Face it...the Great Enemy has played you for a sucker. Edman falsely believed getting Darien near him would break his bonds and stop the shifting, but he'd deeply underestimated how much power was in your friend. You hope Darien is all right, he was so weak and listless and now he's all by himself in the wilderness. You failed him and failed Edman. You know that your other friends, Razzil, Glenn and Sylvia, while you have not seen them, can take care of themselves. You shouldn't worry about them, you should worry about figuring out how to possibly get back to Sunset Vale and the Enemy.

But you can barely walk right now. When you where first blown away by the green tide of energy from poor Edman's body, you thought you where alone, and that you would never get back to where Dermot Mansion once stood, and that all the people the Enemy has hurt would not be helped. You've seen them. You've seen too many of them. And the thought of leaving them strewn here and there about the countryside to fend for themselves made your wooden branches, normally static, close in and break your arms and legs. Its a good thing you heal so fast, but your still weakened from your brush with your curse and your despair, too much to fight yet, as much as you REALLY want to find the Great Enemy right now and KILL him for tricking you that way, and for what he's done to all these people. Right now, your primary focus is on doing exercises to help your healing body and procuring a map. The latter, unlike the former, has been rather hard, no one in this strange town trusts you...the reports of being attacked by a 'strange black dragon man' are enough evidence as to why. That is one of the Vassals, your most persistent enemies, yet also suffering, like you. And by the sound of it, he is on the rampage...more than enough to make most people a bit nervous around anyone who looks funny.

You look to your right and get a reminder that at least you are not alone out here, near this strange town full of suspicious people and vulnerable to attack by Titleless or particularly distrustful mortals. Marius had hardly left your side as you recovered, and used his wires to straighten out your branches. Indeed, it was those very wires, strong and dexterous and with a powerful grip, that allowed him to be here in the first place. According to him, he had grabbed your back branches at the last minute.

Marius's dark eyes examine you, his deathly voice speaking, "Do you need water right now? Its quite hot outside, and your still not quite recovered yet." Your dear, loyal friend. What he lacks in social graces he more than makes up for in kindness and dedication.

You tell him, "I am fine right now, thank you. Best you can do right now is check my limbs, make sure everything is straight." Razzil has taught him a few things, checking to see if bones are healing right is one of them. You examine him, in truth Marius looks less like his namesake and more like Ophelia, only male and wearing blue. Mid-length moplike black hair, sombre dark eyes and a frail, sickly appearance that has proven quite deceptive to enemies who think he is the weaker between you. And of course the thought those cutting, blood-dripping things where horrible at first, but now you have trouble imagining where you would be without them. They had protected you in your time if need, in your time when suddenly you are the defenseless one, as well as allowing him to be here in the first place.

As Marius searched, you thought of your father. He was likely a Titleless too at this point...hopefully, he still remembers you, and is trying to find you even as you can no longer try to find him. Some of those with no Title can't even remember their own name, never mind much else. Hopefully, this did not happen to your father. You where about to say something when Marius piped up, "You are healing as normal. A few more days should do it." Finally, good news. You reach out and grab his hand in yours, as hugging him would be rather...ill advised. He turns quite red, which is fairly remarkable for someone who bleeds so much, and gently removes his gaunt claw from your fingers, "T-thank you very much." He goes and pretends to be distracted by a group of hikers in the distance, who bypass you two without noticing you two, thank goodness. Why is he acting so weird all of a sudden?

You leaned over to ask but a slight pain in your thigh made you snort instead and straighten up. This waiting to heal is killing you, why is it taking so long? Usually, injuries on cursed like you healed in minutes or hours, not days! What the Curse is wrong with you?

You think back to when your where growing up. Your mother had divorced your father when you where very young, and he worked hard to support you, so you had spent a lot of time all alone. As bad as the curse was, it at least allowed you to have some real, true friends. Before it was just you in a tough neighborhood where you got no special treatment for being female. The bullies and petty crooks in your neighborhood quickly learned you where not worth bothering, you had a habit of making anyone who tried to harm you get a black eye. What your father would have done to these people would have been even worse, you know it. He was peacefulness itself most of the time, but if anything at all threatened you in his presence, he would make sure they turned tail and ran. But face it...he'd not be able to intimidate the likes of the Vassals or the Enemy. He was just a man, a good man, but just a man.

And you, despite your newfound immortality and the strange sword that appeared to you when you first entered the now-flattened mansion, where just a woman. And now, the frailty of humanity caught up with you. Unlike most cursed, you and your companions had embraced the change, proved that the Great Enemy's evil, when carefully controlled by your strange powers, could be used as a tool against him. You thought you had become greater than human, and in some ways it was true. But the all to human feeling of failure after falling for the lies Edman had been told had nearly done you in. You can't help but remember how the group of thugs and pests from your old neighborhood who you had convinced to help you, you still had plenty of your dad's not inconsiderable sum of money after all, die horribly in front of you like that. You felt like a failure then, too, and it was then that that horrible...thing showed up and grabbed both your arms, and despite its frail appearance you could not break free of its grip. But you saw you foe's face at least, and long for the day you can see it again so you can give him several pieces of your mind before ending his miserable existence.

If you can ever fight as well as you once did before your body was broken. Its good to see you are healing right, but it will take a while for you to get your body up to where it once was. Thankfully, cross-country walking and fighting anyone who tried to prevent you from getting back to your hometown would get you back into shape. Right now though, you can only sit on the grass and watch Marius collect firewood for tonight. He kept to grabbing deadwood, even though his wire could likely saw through a narrow branch, perhaps to make your presence here less noticeable. You can't help but notice that, over your days of healing, he had spent more and more time watching your every move, like he was afraid you would disappear when you where so close to returning to the battle. What a mother hen!

You asked him, "How long do you think it will be?" You asked him this every day, but you couldn't help it. Every hour that passed is an hour you can't spend looking for your other friends and trying to put the group back together. You NEEDED everyone in one place if you where going to finish this. The Vassals would be waiting to defend their master, why they served that monster was beyond you, but they had done all in their power to defend him so far. The Enemy himself? He looked weak in body, but you knew his powerful mind was an obstacle. If your mortal self had heard that you would be battling a psychic tree demon in the near future, you would have laughed so much. Face where not the type to believe in hocus pocus. And yet, for the last two months or so, your life has been nothing BUT hocus pocus! When did your life suddenly go nuts?

Oh right. When your father tried to see if he could go into the house and discover if this Curse thing had a cure or a way out. You could have told him the only way to end this is to run something pointy through the one who all started it, but your father insisted that he should try to find a loophole so he would not have to kill the Enemy. He was a rather big softie sometimes...and in an odd way, you've softened up too. You used to think anyone who hurt others was just bad...then you touched that gun-handed woman's wrist and all was revealed to you.

She could not help a thing she did. Where the other Vassals the same way? You clearly have been ignorant, thinking you where in some kind of fairytale where everything would just turn out all right in the end if you just tried hard enough. But as these branches still constrict you and prevent you from standing properly, you now know the truth. From now on, you will fight just as hard, and this time you will fight SMART and make sure you are not fooled again by anyone. Defeating this...thing that tried to turn you into a little copy of himself is the reason you where born. You KNOW this. And thanks to having Marius here to have your back if something goes wrong, to help pull you up if you fail like you have twice before now, you think you have one last, great chance to beat this creature.

He almost crushed you...he will not crush you again.


Wintereye111's Profile Picture
Jessica Brooke
A multi-subject artist, trying to avoid suspicion and spread creativity. I prefer fanart, but might do something original once in a while, to.
Look at this, you get a free poem while I explain my new Don't Stave fanart project. My first 'story through pictures' style fanart. goes.

When infinite realms are in the shadows grasp.
Careful avoidance of anyone who would be missed is an important task.
But sometimes, it does not go as planned alas.
And the darkest chapter of the ink-black story does begin.

Wilson and Maxwell, former enemies, huddle in a strange cold breeze.
It should be summer, autumn soon coming.
But the chill is very great.
A premature winter weather movement?
But the throne is now United. Queen and King should be one.
There should be no power greater!
But it seems...there was one.

In recent days, the selection was altered.
Charlie, both King and Queen, had this once faltered.
Someone passed who should have not passed.
Someone with a god's long gaze.
Despite his body a frail and mortal shell.
This one, He who Unstands.
Conquered the wilderness land.
Without turning back, he saw the Seats all before his eyes.
Maxwell the Creator, Wilson the Heir, Willow the Destroyer, Woodie the Savage, Wendy the Medium, and all the rest. Each really thought that they where best.
Once again, in temporal cycle round.
This strange visitor found himself bound.
He easily overcame the crumbling tests.
Put up by old Maxy to challenge the rest.
Though small and frail, he now beheld.
The flower-strewn Throne, Charlie's power seeping through.
Oh, how that once innocent woman had done more harm than all of them together!
He would defeat her, and destroy that throne forever!
Three days battle finally felled the Queen and King as one.
But our story, it seems, has only begun.
The Cycle of kings once again begins its horrid spell.
As certain as the certainty of a clock striking twelve.
The throne's flowers fell, and even though the intruder could,
in an instant, go from here to there, the flower gates had slammed shut.
He could run absolutely nowhere. Charlie laughed, and Maxwell raised his head, looking grim.
He said, "I'm sure of it, the shadows have taken him."
Wilson was about to ask who his sorry former nemesis alluded,
when he heard a gasp, and turned to see the grim events concluded.
Black tendrils grew razor thorns, and bit into white bone.
And thus, the only one who could have saved them all was bound upon the Throne.
And so the growing icy chill bit deeper, deeper to the core.
A low deep icy voice declared what all would have in store,
"I am not like the other rulers. I will not be going home. If I must, I will wipe,
this land clean and close the holes. No one else will enter this place, no one else will leave. No one else will be around, and I will stay forever bound."
Wilson tried to raise a cry, but the voice spoke back, "I'd like to see you try. Kill the world and everything in it, I will just drag you to Hell. I've seen enough to wish to make anyone cry. It's all happened to me before, no one else is getting hurt. So be quiet...or you'll die."


:iconecfor: :iconsonicmasterhero:


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SinistrosePhosphate Featured By Owner Jun 22, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist

Thank you very much for adding my work to your list of favourites. I appreciate your support very much (especially when it comes to a fellow Canadian). Much obliged!

With gratitude,
SonicMasterHero Featured By Owner Feb 21, 2014
W-Wow...u dont have any friends.....